by Oceana Gamel-Howes
Hands. They all serve the same function, they all have the same basic shape. Some are
old, some are rough, some are small. Hands tell a story, and not just through their appearance. The things our hands do are an extension of our brains, our minds, our thoughts; the hub of activity that lives in our skull. That place is where we come from, and our hands are the most important tools we own to express ourselves. Your hands may not seem too
different from mine based on appearance, but it’s not about that they look like, it’s about what
they can do.
Your hands. Yours hands can jot down numbers for hours. I can watch your brain
thinking, processing the equations and solving the puzzles. Your hands carefully connect one mental tangent to another. Your hand is loose around the pencil, calm, clearheaded.
I watch you fiddle with your pencil too, when your brain needs something to occupy it, or
when the thinking has become tough. They can draw too. Mostly one hand drawing on the other when the mind wanders. You carry your hands with confidence, not hiding them behind the sleeves of your jacket, or tucking them under your arms when their crossed. They comb through
your hair, mess with your phone. I watch them brush across the strings of a guitar, both moving
in different ways; one strumming while the other designates the sounds. When you speak, your
hands move with the words, when your feelings are strong, they move faster, and the movements are more exaggerated. Your hands do many things.
My hands, smaller and less capable. They do more art. My hands doodle when my mind is bored. My hands generally do art in the same patterns, they only know how to do things one way. It’s tough to break them of habits. They have habits not just in art. They have semi bad habits, habits that get worse when the mind is stressed. But my hands like the feeling of books, they like the way it feels to turn a page. They like the feeling of pushing water, swimming and feeling like they are webbed. They don’t like typing, but the mind likes writing. They type because my mind told them to, they are simply an expression of me.
They don’t really have a mind of their own, but they may be what enables us to do things
like paint, and play instruments, and swim. They’re different on us all. Yes, they have the same function, basic shape and appearance, but when they are capable of is how they help us. Our hands are simply an expression of us.
by Oceana Gamel-Howes